Portrait of Light
by Jugbean
Summary: Hiiragizawa Eriol, inspired by the sudden notion to compose a piece on the piano to portray the Earth's innocence, has trouble doing so until he pictures a certain lady in mind.


Cardcaptor Sakura

a Hiiragizawa Eriol fic

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Portrait of Light

Hiiragizawa Eriol was preferably a boy of solitude. He preferred silence, the beauty of it, and would much prefer to be basked in the quietness of its light rather than being out in the limelight having to deal with society himself.

This could probably explain the many hours he locked himself in his own Hiiragizawa Manor's huge music room. On occasional days when inspiration would suddenly strike to have him seated upon the piano bench for hours and hours that go by like the easy ticking of the clock, Ruby Moon would be persistently knocking on the oak door hurrying Eriol up for dinner. Sometimes, Spinel Sun would sneak in just to take a peek at his master's genius.

Hiiragizawa Eriol, back in Tomoeda Elementary, was considered the music teacher's most favored student.

"Ah, my amazing pianist, Hiiragizawa-san! How I wish the world could produce more talents like him!" Shishiko-sensei would always be remarking every now and then when the blue-eyed boy would cross paths with her during the elementary days.

Today, in London, England, _he _was doing his solitary thing again. The door to the music room was firmly locked, being cast a spell on to make sure not even Spinel Sun himself was capable of sneaking in nor Ruby Moon having to knock on it. He would repel even before he could knock. That was the power of Clow Reed.

Eriol know not why. At late afternoon that day, admiring the Nadeshikos by his London garden as he lunched with his guardians, the wind that blew seemed more admirable that day. Even the light breeze that played with his dark azure fringes were not the slightest bit of annoying.

Eriol had looked up, noticed the skies were very blue for the first time, and that the clouds were lined white all over. They looked fluffy and puffy, and very innocent. The leaves of the spring tree were swaying with the unheard rhythm of the wind. The sun shone.

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How peaceful.

And Eriol knew he had to do something before he forgot how innocent the world could look at its most vulnerable. In his capability, he could have produce the most delicious cake with the imprints of a beautiful world creamed on it, or sew a picture of that same spring tree, or even draw a portrait of his London garden. After all, he excelled in all these doings back in 5th grade.

But he chose the easy way out, and the hardest and most tedious process to project the image of Earth's innocence today. Easy, because he was most familiar in this, and difficult, because his passion was so great, he wanted to be a perfectionist when it came to portraying its innocence on ivory keys.

That was why he locked himself in the music room that day, at 7pm, and was not seen until past midnight that day. Spinel Sun and Ruby Moon could have remembered having difficulty to sleep, not because Eriol was banging on a majestic piece of grandeur again, but because this piece - the newly composed one - sounded so…

Different. A change from his usual soft ballads he would play on impromptu some days when he was bored out of his mind, or the usual dark haunting pieces of many left-hand arpeggios and modulated chords he would bang with emotions usually when the clock outside struck midnight. It was a favorite habit of his when Ruby Moon and Spinel Sun were fast asleep to wake them up again unintentionally with his grandioso on the pieces.

But today, Ruby Moon pricked an ear as he cleared the dishes from the kitchen.

"Mou, Suppi-chan, Eriol is at this again."

Suppi shrugged. "There is something wrong."

Ruby Moon cracked a smile. "This piece of music. So unlike what he usually composes."

In the music room, Eriol watched as his fingers easily struck down on one key. Scores of scrawled brown paper lay before him in a mess, and a wooden pencil was left on the piano stand.

Earth's innocence?

Eriol was beginning to feel vexed, and it frustrated the hell out of him. Back in the garden, it seemed so easy - the garden in full blossom, the spring tree, the leaves swaying, the light breeze, his guardians lunching peacefully, he seating down happily and finally at ease. So why was it so difficult to express his emotions through music now?

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And all this from a man who composed over a dozen compositions on his beloved piano. Mou. Eriol thought bitterly as he held the pencil, hovering inches above the messy, almost torn manuscripts. Result of the many times the eraser had gone over the five staff lines.

He had tried all ways and means of bringing out the light breeze playing with his dark tresses. A beautiful melody on the right. A high-octave left-hand accompaniment that plays all over and over again. The chords were just right - simple, and clean. So where did it go wrong?

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It sounds empty. Too hollow. Simple, but there is no…emotions.

Eriol thought back to his previous composition - the hardest and longest one ever in his record. He had wrote it with a hauntingly background without any valid reason. He just felt out of sorts that day and decided to take it out on the piano, not aware it would spurn out to become his next composition thereafter.

Aah, yes, he thought of his dark Hiiragizawa manor back in Tomoeda when he wrote it. Those ugly memories Clow Reed bestowed on him. The duty he was saddled with. Because of this, the composition turned out darker than he had expected. Secretly, he was pretty happy with the results. Emotions were always important in music.

So what about this?

Were the memories of those moments sitting in his garden, gazing up at the sky not powerful enough to spur something in him?

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Maybe I have to change my thoughts and direct it to something more…innocent. More earthly, and kind.

He thought of things. He thought, and thought. And then thought of someone.

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Someone?

Aah, yes, a person kept in mind would always be easier to bring out the emotions. A person was always the best object to use to portray the main part of the image, just as long as the person had the right qualities he wanted the composition to turn out to be.

But who on this living Earth was as innocent, as pure, as gentle, as kind as the wind and blue sky?

He stopped and thought.

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Aah.

That night at 12am, Ruby Moon and Spinel Sun never fell asleep as they heard their master compose all 3 pages of his composition.

It started off with a light, innocent melody. A few simple touches of chords on the right. High-octave left hand. Gradually moved into a deeper, more emotional movement where the left hand took over the passionate arpeggios, and allowed the right-hand fingers to run a chromatics down - ironically modulated to an infinite angelic tone. The tone became playful even, weaving on the interception of innocence, the wind, the sky, the leaf, the tree, and the tone of an angel.

Finally, Ruby Moon and Spinel Sun fell asleep listening to the last part of Eriol's composition - a soft, peculiarly sad melody that ran with complicated cross-over notes from the left hand. The right hand undertook more layers of chords, and the tone came across as…

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Ethereal. Eriol thought, a satisfied smile on his face as he played his composition one last time through, making his final amendments before taping his papers together and crushing the rest into paper balls and throwing them into the bin.

He played the final note - a chord. Right hand in the 3rd highest octave. Left hand at the bottom. An intervening of the innocent and the sad.

An angel and her tears. Pure innocence.

Eriol smiled softly as he stood up and closed the cover of the piano. Adverting his eyes towards the window, he walked towards it slowly and looked up to the stars.

There was not much thinking to be done of what he would call his composition.

His feet shuffled along the grounds and he turned off the lights of the music room. In his mind, as he prepared to turn into bed and give into the submission of his exhausted mind, a light smile played along his lips.

He thought of a girl, her familiar kind eyes, her air of innocence, her maturity, her radiant aura. Like the wind, like the spring tree, like the blue sky, like the garden flowers. And an exact replica of an angel.

He had called his composition _Shouzou no Hikari._

Portrait of Light.

And _she _was that portrait that had allowed him to reproduce that very evening to the last ounce of midnight.

****

Owari

chiri no tenshi


End file.
